


Cut Down To The Bone

by kalymnos



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalymnos/pseuds/kalymnos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared knows basketball. And he knows how to hate Jensen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut Down To The Bone

Jared flicks through the last seventy pages of _Top Gear_ , eyes unmoving, and tosses it without ceremony back on top of the magazine table where it lands with a solid slap. The woman sitting next to him blanches pointedly, reshuffling the sleeping child cradled against her chest, and Jared casts her a sideways glance, grunts a half-hearted apology.

He leans forward, elbows propped up against his knees, and breathes in deeply to soothe his agitation, but the sharp smell of antiseptic and his own drying sweat curdle together in his gut. He's gotta take a piss.

"I gotta take a piss," he says, turning to the side, and then he remembers he sent the other boys home an hour ago.

Lurching only slightly, he stumbles up and out of his seat. The clinic is a relic of small-town medicine – peach-colored décor, kids' drawings stuck to the walls, and a single set of toilets – and Jared walks down the same vinyl hallway he has his whole life.

As he struggles to unpeel his zipper, it's hard to ignore the tremor in his hands, the foul stench of fear no broken bone or high fever has ever before brought.

*

"Where the fuck were you going?"

Jared is livid. It's a welcome reprieve from the sickening dread, and he delights in it, relishes the rage. "You fucking asshole. I could _kill_ you right now," he says in a half-scream. "Neck injury means you _stay in the fucking bed_."

Ackles gingerly re-settles back against the pillows. He's silent, staring just past Jared's head.

Inflamed at the brush-off, Jared searches for a tactic. He snarls: "Don't tell me you can't wrap your pretty head around something like that."

Ackles' eyes flash, and Jared feels a flutter of triumph. Then Ackles schools his expression, features melting into simper. "Don't let me start thinking you actually care, Padalecki," he purrs.

He's being played, Jared knows it, he does, but it's knowledge too fleeting to stop him.

He stomps to the side of the hospital bed, reaches out to clamp a hand down on Ackles' arm.

Ackles recoils visibly, grits his teeth and stares defiantly up at Jared.

"Get your fucking hands off me."

It's so soft Jared barely hears it, but the threat underlining the words sparks something in his blood. _Finally_ , he thinks.

Jared just grips tighter, white-knuckled against flushed skin. He leans in.

"If you think this is about anything other than making it to state, you're crazy," he whispers. "The guys have worked too fucking hard all season for shit to go down like this, because you forgot how to pull down a rebound without nearly killing yourself. You're good, but we don't need you."

He pauses, feeling out of control. He tries to rein it in. He can't be saying these things, he's such a _bastard_ , he's going to throw up, he –

"If you're not back on the court in four weeks, you're out," he breathes, and walks out.

*

A week later, and the boys are running hard in training, feet crashing against the floorboards in almighty thunder.

"Harder!" Jared pushes. He goes faster, streaking out in front, throws his body at the free throw line and hauls back around to start again. He pounds the court in a punishing rhythm, ignores the echo in his head that he knows will turn into a migraine as soon as he sits down. After he's done eight suicides, heading back up the court for a ninth, he takes in the other guys loping toward him, Murray shoving at Kane with an elbow, and stops running.

"Pull up," he calls.

A few of the guys groan in relief. Jared watches as Tom grabs Mike in a headlock and they make their way into the huddle with matching grins on sweat-streaked faces. As soon as they're close enough to see Jared, they pull up quickly, sobering.

Jared opens his mouth, ready to call scrimmage, and feels instead the rage he's been tampering for a week come hurtling, raw and unbridled, from his chest.

*

"So I heard you fed the guys their balls last night."

Jared blinks, pulls back his cell to stare at the screen. _Unknown caller._

"Ackles?"

"Look, all I'm saying is, I know you're pissed. But don't be someone to them they can't forgive you for, man."

Jared can't get past the shock of Ackles calling him. He flounders, catches at something – anything. " _Man?_ " he says with as much derision as he can muster.

Ackles makes an impatient noise. "I know you don't give a shit about me." He breaks off, breathes like he's forcing something painful from his throat. "You're the captain. And you're. You're a good captain. So don't fuck it up now. Don't lose their good will, or they won't look to you on the court when they should."

Jared prides himself on always having words in his mouth, things to say. It made him a shit of a little brother but a hell of a debater. And an even better captain. But he feels lost, now, words all mixed up. "I, uh. Shit. Why are you doing this? I was such an ass to you the other day. I don't. I don't know why I was such an ass to you that day."

When it comes, the reply is amused. "Yeah. Well, I always knew you were a little bitch. You were also the only person who stayed long enough for the results to come in."

"I thought I hated you." Jared blinks, surprised, and fights not to bite his tongue off.

"I was the competition for captaincy, of course you did."

Jared whispers, "Yeah, I don't think so."

There's a weird pause. "Okay, Jared. Bust 'em up for me tonight, yeah?"

The line goes dead before Jared can respond.

*

The final score reads 97-95 after double overtime.

The guys are packing up their gear in the locker room, when a loud whoop causes Jared to look up.

Ackles is smiling in the center of the crude circle the boys have formed, and Jared watches from the outside as he good-naturedly endures ass-slaps, back-thumps and bats away enthusiastic attempts to vandalise his brace. After a few minutes he slips free, and comes over to where Jared is lacing up his sneakers.

"How does it feel?"

He's leaning casually against the lockers, looking absolutely not as dorky as he should considering the brace.

Jared snorts. "To lose? Same old shit as ever."

"Yeah, but at least they don't hate you."

"We might not make state now," Jared counters, but it's half-hearted. He's happy.

"But now you know that if we do, they'll spill their guts out there for you. Every single one of them."

"Including bench players?"

"Including them. And especially the cripples," Jensen says, grinning. "Later, Jared."

Jared watches him until he's out of sight.

*

"Dude, could you be in love with Ackles a little quieter? It's fucking annoying."

Jared rolls his eyes, hisses: "Murray, shut up, we're in the library. What the fuck are you even talking about."

He can't concentrate. Jensen's sitting leg-sprawled on top of one of the work tables, flirting with one of the juniors, and the giggles and sighs are carrying and it's fucking _distracting_ him from Jane Eyre. He can't ignore it hard enough.

"I swear, it's like the two of you are too thick-skulled to realise you both go home and jack off thinking about the other."

"Not funny, Chad," says Jared harshly.

"You think I'm joking? You do, don't you?" Murray sighs long-sufferingly, mutters about fucking morons. "C'mon, dude. He always looks for you in plays."

"He's point guard, that's his job."

"Yeah, but all the time? He doesn't even try to pass to Welling--"

Jared cuts him off, agitated. "Have you got a point?"

Chad looks around guiltily, sighs and grits out, "Okay, look. I wasn't 'sposed to tell you this. I was the only one who saw it properly, and he made me promise not to spill."

"Remind me never to tell you secrets," Jared says, makes an impatient, _spit-it-the-fuck-out-already_ gesture.

"The day he fell and hurt himself. I need you to think, dipshit. What do you remember?"

"What are you --?"

"Just tell me. _Christ._ "

Jared glares. "I remember the scrimmage, both of us going up for the ball. I remember Rosenbaum charging us from below, then we fell and I landed --" Realisation sinks, and Jared falls silent, knows that he would have wobbled if he weren't already sitting down.

"No way," he whispers.

"Yep. Don't say I never ever …"

But Jared doesn't hear the rest, having vaulted up from his chair, crossed the floor and hauled Jensen bodily from his perch and out the library doors.

*

It's hard for Jared to explain how they managed to get from the school library to his house three blocks away, not only in such a short time, but without being stopped, but it's not high up on his priority list at the moment. Jensen had giving up struggling about two blocks from the school, but the fuming questions and threats never ceased.

"There better be near death involved in your explanation for kidnapping me, dude, _I swear to God_ \--"

Jared closes his bedroom door, leans his head against it for a second, and inhales deeply.

"Shut up." He turns and sees Jensen's eyes narrow, his mouth fly open to retort.

"Please," Jared grits out reluctantly.

Jensen rolls his eyes, waves his hand. _Get on with it._

It's frustrating, is what it is, when Jared can't get out the words he'd prepared earlier. He stutters, and curses, and tries over three times before the sight of Jensen standing up – to, to _leave?_ – causes all hope to deflate from his chest.

He stares down at the carpet, expecting to hear hurried footsteps and the door slam.

Instead, there's a hand at the back of his neck, squeezing in gentle reassurance.

"Could you be any more ridiculous?"

Jared looks up, and it's to the sight of warm green eyes and a small smile stretching – yeah, Jared can admit to it – absolutely gorgeous lips. But Jensen's not mocking him. He's waiting patiently, and Jared can't help but see the friend he could have always had, were it not for his own stubborn bullshit.

They're standing close together, sharing the same space, and Jared thinks it would not be such a great effort to lean down and kiss Jensen. It would be easy, it would hardly be anything --

"Did you break my fall that day at training?"

Jensen freezes, still like an animal caught in headlights. "What?"

Jared stalls, now completely unsure. "Chad told me--"

" _Fuck_ Chad," Jensen snarls. "That squealing git--"

"So you did?"

Jensen backs away and sighs, defeated. "What do you want me to say, Jared?" he says quietly.

Jared is suddenly one hundred per cent, absolutely sure of what he needs to say. "I need you to say you won't ever do something that completely moronic again, you fucking dick. Do you even know how worried I was?"

Jensen's head snaps up, but Jared barrels on. "I need you to say you'll forgive me for the shit I said. And I need you to say you could maybe consider being the guy who gets to always call me on my bullshit, because man," he shrugs and tries to quell his rushing hope, the same surge he sees reflected in Jensen's eyes.

"I fucking need it."

 

Later, when they've come back to themselves, Jared gets his answer.

 

 _End._

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spnspringfling


End file.
